Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“They’re takin’ London to the hospital,” I said in a low voice. “Cop knows it’s not right, he’s gonna talk to her. I need the brothers and the evidence out of here before that happens, got me? Just in case.”
“I hear you,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Fuck. You should’ve taken care of this before you left home—shut her mouth so she’d never talk.”
“If we’d done that, Em would be dead right now,” I said coldly. “Don’t forget who called nine one one. London said she wanted to help us and she’s got good reasons to keep her word. Those cops won’t be able to get her cousin out. We’re her only hope, so let’s just wait and see what happens.”
LONDON
“Reese asked me to find a box for him,” I told the cop, my words deliberate and careful. “He’s my boyfriend. We rode over from Coeur d’Alene last night to visit his daughter. I went up to the storage room and started looking around—then I accidentally bumped the door and it swung shut, locking me in. That’s when I saw Em outside in the backyard, and after nobody heard me shouting, I broke out the window and jumped down.”
“What was in the box?”
“Motorcycle parts. I never found it.”
“If he’s your boyfriend, why isn’t he here to make sure you’re okay?”
I sighed, because now he was just being stupid on purpose.
“Because his daughter was bleeding out the last time I saw her, and all I’ve got are a few scratches. I think she takes priority over me for now, don’t you?”
The cop stared at me without speaking. We’d been through this whole story three times now. Each time he made it clear he didn’t believe I was telling the truth. Each time I made it clear I didn’t care what he believed.
In some ways I had to appreciate what he was trying to do—all too many police officers turned a blind eye to abuse, which was obviously what he thought was happening here. He was trying to save my life, and if staying alive were my top priority I’d be all over that.
But rescuing Jessica was my top priority, followed closely by killing the men who’d hurt her. Survival was a distant third.
“You aren’t going to change your story, are you?” he asked, his voice tired.
“It’s not a story,” I replied softly. “It’s what happened.”
“Here’s my card,” he said. “I’m putting my personal cell number on the back. Call me if you decide to talk, or you need help. We both know something’s wrong here, and sooner or later it’ll come crashing down around you. Don’t be afraid to reach out, okay?”
“Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine.”
He shook his head and walked away, leaving me alone in the small private room they’d given us. There were lots of tissue boxes placed in strategic spots—I had a feeling this was one of those places they put families right before they told them someone had died. I hoped very much that Reese wasn’t sitting in another room just like this somewhere else in the hospital, mourning his daughter. I needed to find him, or at the very least find someone who could tell me what the hell was going on with Em.
Standing up hurt, although none of my bruises or cuts were serious. They’d given me a couple of stitches on my forehead, disinfected me, and called it good. I was supposed to keep a close eye on the puncture wound in particular, and see a doctor asap if there were any signs of infection, blah blah blah.
I grabbed the bag holding the remains of my clothing and clutched it to my chest. (Although I wasn’t sure why they’d bothered to give them back to me, because I’d never be able to wear them again. At least the scrubs they’d given me were comfortable.) I’d already been discharged from the ER, so I was able to just walk right out into the waiting room. No sign of Reese, but I spotted Painter. His expression was grim.
I walked over to him, scared of whatever news had put that look on his face.
“How is she?” I asked, not bothering to say hello.
“Not good,” he said, standing up and facing me. “I guess the baby wasn’t right. They called it an octorpic pregnancy, or some such shit.”
“Ectopic?”
“Yeah, that sounds right. The baby wasn’t in the right place. Instead of growing in her womb, it was in one of the tubes to her ovary, and then it busted the whole thing open. That’s what started all the bleeding. They’ve got her in surgery right now, but she’s lost a fuckload of blood, London. They said she might die. The baby never had a shot.”
I swayed, and he caught me, still holding my eyes.
“Reese and Gage put me here to watch for you,” he said slowly. “Gage said you were talking to the cops.”